


Sickdays Day 1: Bodily Fluids

by occasionalspiderfiction (SemiRetiredAuthor), sickficlurker (SemiRetiredAuthor)



Series: Original Sickdays [1]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, I mean it this time!!, Mostly hurt, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Scat, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Vomiting, What Have I Done, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 05:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14098512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiRetiredAuthor/pseuds/occasionalspiderfiction, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiRetiredAuthor/pseuds/sickficlurker
Summary: A birthday sickfic for a friend! Honestly, just another take on Peter sick at school because he can't afford to skip a test.Seriously, look at the tags before reading. This one's definitely not for everyone.





	Sickdays Day 1: Bodily Fluids

**Author's Note:**

> Last warning: read the tags!

It was an off day, or that’s what Peter told himself. For no discernible reason, he’d woken up just feeling… off. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was wrong and shrugged it off as maybe coming down with something. It was an annoyance for sure, but with his healing factor it would probably be over in a day or two tops. It should be simple enough to push through it. That decided, he pulled himself out of bed and got ready for the day, heading to school without issue.

He let himself relax through his classes, not really in any mood to voluntarily participate. He made sure not to go so far as to zone out completely or fall asleep in class, but more than one of his teachers noticed his suddenly missing enthusiasm and questioned him after class. Sticking to the truth seemed like his best bet, and both of his teachers seemed to relax a little after hearing that he was coming down with a vague “something.” He appreciated the concern—he really did—but he was getting tired of losing his time between periods and having to rush to his next class while he still felt off.

It wasn’t the _best_ school day he’d ever had, but it also wasn’t too bad until he got to his afternoon chemistry class. If he was honest, he would’ve just stayed home if it weren’t for chemistry. Alas, he had an exam today that he couldn’t afford to miss. Ms. Warren tailored any make-up exams to each student, and she’d caught him “goofing off”—i.e. watching Spider-Man videos or working on a batch of web fluid—too many times. With his luck, she’d keep in mind how much he knew about chemistry and give him college-level questions to make the test “fair” if he missed it.

With little ado, she passed out the tests. When he got his, he skimmed through the pages to gauge what he was in for: a half page of chemical equations to balance, two and a half pages of multiple choice questions, and a handful of short answers. The short answer essays were worth the most points and would take the most time, so he zeroed in on those first.

The first was simple, just a couple sentences on bomb calorimetry. The second was harder, and he found himself pulled out of his mental outline of the response by a sudden, sharp cramp that made him slam his fist against the paper and snap the exposed graphite of the mechanical pencil in surprise. It was there for less than a second, though, quickly leaving him to regather his thoughts on the processes of sublimation and deposition.

He realized it wasn’t a random, ignorable cramp when it happened again and again throughout his attempts at the essays. He read back over his answers each time, trying to find his train of thought again, only to add maybe one more sentence before another cramp distracted him. He grit his teeth and pushed on even though he had a sinking feeling about what was coming and soon. With renewed vigor, he flipped a page and scribbled his way through the simplest questions while he still had the focus to scoop up the easy points.

His stomach felt like it was rolling and bubbling when he gave up on finishing the remaining questions. He’d kept a running tally of how many points he definitely earned, and it was at ninety percent now. He _knew_ he knew the material well enough to earn a hundred on the test, but the shifting and stabbing in his stomach wasn’t kind enough to give him the time to finish it. He needed out of the stuffy classroom, and he needed it as soon as possible. One hand shot into the air while he made a shaky attempt to answer the last few multiple-choice questions with his other. He shifted uncomfortably at his desk as he waited for Ms. Warren to excuse him.

A minute passed, and another twisting stab at his stomach left him unable to wait anymore. He shoved himself up from his desk with a hand slapped over his mouth on top of his naturally panicked look, hoping that would stop any protests from his teacher while he sprinted out.

He didn’t slow down until he reached his destination, accidentally slamming himself against the wall as he rushed into the end stall. He hurriedly scrabbled at his button and zipper and yanked down his pants not a moment too soon. What felt like pure liquid was pouring out of him in a torrent immediately, splattering loudly with the exaggerated acoustics of the school bathroom. He buried his face in his hands, embarrassed even with no one around to notice him.

He didn’t get this sick often—especially after the spider bite—and when he did, he largely blocked out the memories afterward. The burning pain and the complete lack of control always took him by surprise because of that tendency, and this time was no different. He bit back an actual sob at the burn just a minute in, and he was sure it would only get worse by the end.

The stream gradually slowed down as he silently let it happen, slowly becoming more and more anxious waiting than actual shitting. It would occasionally start all over again, but now it was in short bursts rather than one painfully long stretch. Physically, he felt just a bit better, with fewer and duller stomach cramps. Emotionally, not so much.

He’d been scrubbing away stubborn tears from the start, but now he couldn’t successfully stifle the sobbing into his hands. His face was a wet, salty mess of snot and tears that did nothing to make him feel better about the situation, and he couldn’t even get the crying under control so there was no use in attempting to clean himself up with the crappy half-ply toilet paper yet. It was humiliating to think of all of the amazing things he could do in an identity-concealing suit while still being reduced to a blubbering mess over a simple stomach flu as himself. He couldn’t tell how much was from exertion, how much was from sickness lowering his emotional barriers, and how much was from utter embarrassment and pain.

He didn’t know how long he stayed still trying to calm down from the experience before he panicked when a sob came out as a soft gag. He hurriedly cleaned up as well as he could and flushed before kneeling and bracing himself for more suffering.

He rocked back to sit on his calves after a couple minutes of resignedly waiting his way through a whole lot of nothing. Another gag sent him forward again, but he found himself repeating the process and couldn’t bring himself to hold back an annoyed whine.

He’d been here in pain and distress for who knew how long, and he just wanted it to be over. The same thing happened twice more before he didn’t think he could take it anymore and worked up the courage to push the process along himself. Trying not to think about what he was about to do, he shoved two fingers into the back of his mouth and jerked them back out with a harsh retch. He coughed and sputtered his way through two waves of vomit before he finally felt his stomach mostly settle for the first time since he’d woken up.

Finally, nothing more came even though his body was still uncomfortably going through the motions, and he sighed in relief through the tears. He didn’t feel completely better, but there was something less uncomfortable about not actively expelling anything.

He hesitantly moved to the sink, eager to erase any evidence that he’d actually _cried_ over being a little sick. He caught his own gaze in the mirror and groaned. He looked awful. There was no other way to put it. No matter how well he tidied up, he couldn’t hide the shaking and sweating that didn’t seem ready to abate anytime soon or the pastiness his face had taken on that made his skin appear almost green in the fluorescent lighting. At least his test was over and he could go home now. He could tell he was in for an afternoon of trying to relax and do nothing more taxing than a nap at home.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written scat before, but a friend wanted this for her birthday, so I figured why not try now? It was an experience, but probably not something I'll do often so if you don't like this kind of fic, just look forward to ones in the near future. :P I was nervous about posting this since it's a bit MORE than my usual stuff, so unlike usual, comment moderation is turned on for this fic.


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